


Filling In the Cracks

by LookingForShadows



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Cute Kids, Gen, Holidays, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-29 06:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5118428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LookingForShadows/pseuds/LookingForShadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various holidays with Josh and Donna and their daughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Four Costumes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note about the story title: I'm approaching the first holidays without my best friend. She loved Christmas more than any other holidays, and working in retail I know I'm going to be bombarded with everything holidays. So I've been thinking about "the holiday season" and holidays in general. Everyone always says a loss is always more poignant at the holidays, and especially the holidays the loved one loved in turn. Combine this with listening to the heartbreaking "Burn" by Phillipa Soo (from _Hamilton_ ) on repeat...
> 
> For me, right now, holidays are a way to try to keep my heart from breaking even further. But to Josh, having suffered unimaginable losses, I imagine that holidays are a way to fill in the cracks.

**i. ladybug**

As soon as Donna stepped into the East Wing, she was accosted by five different staffers and the First Lady.

“Hand over that adorable little girl immediately,” Helen Santos said, sweeping Hannah out of Donna’s arms. “Well, hi, honey. You are the cutest ladybug I’ve ever seen.”

Donna laughed as they walked towards the Residence. “I take it Miranda wasn’t a ladybug?”

“A pumpkin,” she said, still staring at the baby in her arms. “So was Peter. Matt overruled me. I thought a strawberry would’ve been cute.”

“Well, I’m sure they enjoy the pictures,” Donna said, trying not to laugh as they approached the West Wing.

“I threatened to send them to the _New York Times_ if they didn’t start picking up their rooms,” Helen said, and looked down at Hannah. “But you won’t need to do that, will you, sweetie? No, because your daddy already told your Uncle Sam that he’s not going to let you grow up and everyone in the West Wing overheard him.”

Donna laughed aloud this time. “Did he really?”

“Oh, yeah. At least three different people told me about that. Now,” she said to Hannah as they entered the Colonnade, “let’s go see your daddy and Uncle Matt. I bet they’ll have a White House Council set up within an hour to make sure you never grow up.”

 

**ii. owl**

“She’s pretty sick, Josh,” Donna said, resting the phone between her ear and her shoulder.

“She was sick when I left the house this morning,” he said, and she could hear him shuffling papers in the background. “I didn’t leave anything at home that might be from the Office of Energy and Climate Change Policy, did I?”

“Kitchen counter next to your coffee mug,” she said, and sighed. “I can’t bring her tonight. I can’t get the President sick.”

“It’s a cold, Donna,” Josh said. “I think the President would be fine. But if you can’t bring her, I should let everyone know I won’t be in tonight.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I’ll think about it, but…”

“Yeah. Now, can you put me on speakerphone? I just want to talk to her.”

“She’s sick, she’s not going to be talking back,” Donna warned, even as she tapped the speakerphone button on her phone.

“Hi, Hannah,” Josh’s voice said from the phone, and Hannah, who had been somewhat preoccupied by one of the ten thousand toys that had taken over their living room floor, looked towards the phone. “Do you remember what today is? We talked about it last night…”

“Ho-ween.”

“Yeah, Halloween,” Josh said from the phone. “And what are you going to dress up as?”

"How-ah!”

Holding the phone and tempted to hang up on her husband, Donna sighed and started making a list of things to bring to the White House’s Halloween celebration to make sure that her toddler didn’t get the White House staff sick as a dog.

 

**iii. alice in wonderland**

“Okay,” Josh said, leading his daughter into the Outer Oval Office. “Now, the President said he wanted to see you in your costume before we all go outside, and that was really nice of him, so what are we going to say?”

But Hannah had gotten distracted, looking at the big bowl of candy on Ronna’s desk. “Candy?”

“No, we’re going to say thank you,” Josh said, and then, realizing it was a lost cause, lifted her into his arms. “Can you say hi to Ronna?”

“Hi, Ronna,” Hannah said, smiling. “Candy, Daddy?”

“Here, you like Kit-Kat bars,” he said, plucking a small one out of the basket on Ronna’s desk and unwrapping it for her. “You’re doing good on your R’s, honey.”

“Thank ‘oo,” Hannah said, taking the Kit-Kat and stuffing it into her mouth.

Josh laughed. “Be careful of your dress, honey. You don’t want to get chocolate on your dress.”

“That would be a disaster for you, Alice,” President Santos said as he entered the room, Sam following closely behind, and then stopped short. “Oh! You’re not Alice, you’re Hannah.”

From Josh’s arms, Hannah laughed.

“Now,” President Santos said, grabbing a Reese’s from Ronna’s basket, “if you’re Alice, then who’s Daddy?”

Hannah scrunched up her face in thought.

“Mad Hatter?” she guessed, and to Josh’s chagrin but not surprise, both the President and Sam burst into laughter.

 

**iv. elsa**

“I knew we shouldn’t have brought her.”

Josh grinned at his wife. “But look how happy she is!”

“Everyone is going to know all the words to ‘Let It Go’ by the time we go home.”

“And then they’ll have a small slice of what it’s like to live with our daughter,” Josh said, and stepped forward. “Mr. President.”

“Stop hogging my attention, Josh, you’re not working tonight,” Santos said, and crouched down. “Hi, Hannah. You look so pretty in your dress.”

Hannah beamed. “Thank you. I’m Elsa!”

“You’re very welcome, honey. Can you tell me who Elsa is?”

Josh choked back laughter as Donna covered her face with her hands; the brilliant smile slid off Hannah’s face as she looked up at the President incredulously, clearly outraged. “ _You don’t know who Elsa is?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this is about thirty minutes and no one around to beta for me, so all mistakes are my own and I apologize in advance for them. Enjoy!
> 
> The whole chapter was inspired by [this picture](https://instagram.com/p/9e2SH4NNCh/?taken-by=petesouza) that White House photographer Pete Souza posted yesterday. Hannah's owl costume was inspired by my two-year-old neighbor who very excitedly told me she was dressing up as "an howl!"


	2. Thanks Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you had told Josh fifteen years ago that he would someday be going to Thanksgiving dinner with his wife, daughter, and mother at Andy Wyatt’s house, he would have laughed it off as crazy."

**i. getting dressed**

If you had told Josh fifteen years ago that he would someday be going to Thanksgiving dinner with his wife, daughter, and mother at Andy Wyatt’s house, he would have laughed it off as crazy.

On the other hand, if you had told Josh that someday his mother would be laughing in his kitchen as he attempted to reason with his own child, he would have believed that. Ruth Lyman always did have a wicked sense of humor.

“Honey,” Josh says, finally having caught a squirming Hannah in his arms, “Mommy’s got your new dress all ready for you upstairs.”

“I wanna wear the Elsa dress!” Hannah says, kicking him sharply in the thigh. “Don’t wanna wear the gray one!”

“But it looks very pretty on you,” Josh tries to placate, and shoots a glare at his mother as she cackles from the kitchen table. “Mom!”

“JOSH!”

“I’m coming!” Josh yells up the stairs. “For God’s sake, Mom, at least get the dressing out of the fridge?”

“The dressing? Like salad – oh, you mean the stuffing.”

He huffs as he properly hoists Hannah, who is still arguing with the air about wearing her Halloween costume tonight, into his arms. “Blame Donna, she says it that way, I’ve been living with her for too long.”

“Blame Mommy?” Hannah asks curiously, and he sighs as his mother’s laughter follows them up the stairs.

 

**ii. noodle kugel**

When the four of them – Donna, Josh, Ruth, and Hannah – finally appear on Andy’s doorstep, they don’t make a bad picture. Sure, Hannah is still smarting about the holiday dress she looks adorable in, and Ruth is trying to take the aluminum pan of stuffing from Donna’s hands (to take credit for it, likely, Josh notes to himself), but they’re not fighting and they’re all dressed. Thank goodness for small miracles.

Hannah rings the doorbell – she’s obsessed with pressing any button she can get her hand on – and he can hear the twins running to get it even before he hears Andy shout, “Toby, get the door!”

It flings open seconds later, Toby giving one of his tiny almost-smiles before the twins ambush the guests.

“Good to see you,” Josh says around Molly, who has decided to throw herself at him.

Toby nods at him before looking down. “Huck, can you help Mrs. Lyman carry the food in?”

Meanwhile, Molly is dragging a delighted Hannah into the house and up the stairs, chattering away about a new jewelry-making kit and her old dolls; Donna looks like a ten-pound weight has been lifted off her shoulders.

They’re coming into the house when Toby peers down at the dish that Huck has handed him. “Is this noodle kugel?”

“Made it myself,” Ruth says, taking off her coat.

“Huh,” Toby says, looking down at it, but he’s definitely smiling now as he walks towards the kitchen. Ruth struts after him with the stuffing, and Josh grins as Donna mutters something about unbearable Lyman genes.

 

**iii. rolls/roles**

“Thanks for inviting us,” Donna says with a hug for their host. “You’ve met Ruth before?”

“Yeah, at your wedding reception,” Andy says, immediately getting to work with their added dishes. “And, you know, I didn’t so much as invite you as I stopped by the East Wing to talk about that education initiative they’re testing in my district and you weaseled your way into our Thanksgiving.”

“I didn’t weasel!” Donna protests, but Ruth is already laughing so hard she’s turned bright red. “You said if it was that hard to prepare Thanksgiving dinner – which it _is_ – that we should just all do it together!”

“At least I’ve got Toby, you have to put up with Josh,” Andy says, and points a gravy-covered spoon towards the living room. “He crashed Thanksgiving with us right after President Bartlet was elected, you know. That man cannot cook.”

“What can’t I do?” Josh says, poking his head around the door, grinning widely at Donna when she rolls her eyes. “Aw, c’mon, Donna, I didn’t even say anything!”

“You were going to, that’s enough,” she says, and points to a package as she rummages around in the fridge for something. “I’m putting you in charge of the rolls. Inevitably, someone always forgets to put the rolls in to warm up. So that’s your job tonight, is to remember the rolls.”

Josh’s eyes widen as his wife stares him down, daring him to argue back. “But, we’re watching the game, I’m keeping an eye on the kids…”

“My kids are eleven, they’re fine!” Andy says over one shoulder.

“Toby can look after a three-year-old for a few minutes, don’t you think?” Ruth asks Andy as she gets to work with the potatoes, and Donna beams at Josh, confident and sparkling and daring him to talk back.

 

**iv. green bean casserole**

“Don’t wanna eat green beans,” Hannah whines pathetically as Donna starts to serve the kids, who have been complaining the last half-hour that they’re all “starving” – a word she’s sure her three-year-old did not know before and will now use at least once every five minutes for the next several years.

“They taste pretty good, Han,” Donna says. “They’ve got some sauce on them, I think that’ll make them really yummy.”

“Ugh, don’t say ‘yummy,’ it’s a dumb word,” says Huck, rolling his eyes and climbing onto the chair next to Hannah.

“Be nice!” Andy calls from the kitchen, but Ruth comes out from the kitchen with the bowl of stuffing ( _dressing,_ Donna tells herself, she was raised in a family that called it dressing and she’ll be damned if she gives it up) and Huck is immediately distracted.

“No more green beans!” Hannah says, and Donna decides to take pity on her daughter and move some of them over to her own plate. After all, it is Thanksgiving, and they are at someone else’s home. There’s no need to fight the issue when it’s just going to end up in a temper tantrum.

Naturally, Josh chooses that moment to swear up a storm and emerges from the kitchen with the basket of somewhat burnt rolls. As Huck and Molly laugh at his frustrated expression, Hannah asks, “Daddy, do I have to eat the green beans?”

“Of course not, sweetie,” Josh says, and if looks could only kill, Donna Moss would make damn sure that her husband was at least under extreme torture right now.

 

**v. the bird**

“This is incredible,” Josh says around a mouthful of turkey, and swallows. “Andy, what did you do to this bird? It tastes like heaven.”

Too late, Josh notices Toby’s wide, horrified eyes and Andy’s anxious looks towards Molly, who now has both hands over her mouth and whose eyes are watering in the manner of a dramatic eleven-year-old.

“Mom?” she says quietly, and Donna elbows him sharply and what has he done wrong this time? “Do I have to eat the turkey?”

“You like turkey,” Toby says, more gently than Josh has ever heard him before. “That’s what you always want when we make sandwiches for lunch.”

“But…” Molly’s pouting now, her eyes flickering back and forth between Andy and the stairs, and Josh can practically hear his wife thinking about how she could be a great actress someday. “It’s a bird, and…”

“We don’t eat parakeets, honey,” Andy says – and oh. That explains a lot. “Did you want to be excused?”

Huck rolls his eyes along with the rest of his head, but Molly nods furiously. “Just to check on Tweet Tweet?”

Josh risks a glance at Toby, who is studiously studying the table and trying not to laugh.

“Sure, hon,” Andy says, helping herself to cranberry sauce. “But – he’s fine, I promise. And what brought this on, anyway? You know that turkey is a bird.”

Until now, Hannah had been sitting between Josh and Ruth, obliviously eating her mashed potatoes, but now she looks up in horror. “Turkey is a _birdy_?”

 

**vi. cranberry sauce**

“You know, we should all really go around and say what we’re thankful for.”

Around the table, there are groans, none louder than Josh’s – who does this every year, when his mother suggests the same thing at the exact same time during every Thanksgiving meal. Donna nudges him with her foot in a desperate attempt to get him to not argue.

It doesn’t work. “C’mon, Mom, really?”

“Josh, we’ve been doing this since you were a child, you know better than to argue,” Ruth says firmly, and Toby is smiling like he’s thinking _I knew I liked Ruth Lyman for a reason._ “I’ll go first if it makes that much of a difference.”

“No, Mom, please –”

“I’m thankful for my son and my wonderful daughter-in-law and my beautiful granddaughter,” Ruth says, smiling at Hannah, who beams back at her. “And I’m thankful for the years I’ve had with those that are gone, the years that are yet to come, and for the present, celebrating with all of you.”

“Mom, really? Insulting me?” Donna swears Josh has the exact same pout Hannah does when she wants more ice cream.

“I wasn’t insulting you, I just didn’t feel that you deserved a nice adjective at the moment. But I’m feeling magnanimous,” Ruth says, inclining her head like a queen, “so because it’s Thanksgiving and I know you hate this, I’m going to give you a few more minutes. Toby, would you like to go next?”

The deer-in-the-headlights look on Toby’s face as he startles and knocks over the cranberry sauce is enough to make the whole table shake with laughter.

 

**vii. sauerkraut**

The conversation is winding down – they’ll probably start clearing the plates in a few minutes in preparation for dessert – when Huck says, “Mom, can I have thirds of sauerkraut?”

“Hmm? Sure, kid,” she says, and reaches for the long, narrow dish she’s been keeping next to her. Donna was wondering what that was. “You really like the stuff, don’t you?”

“I guess,” Huck says – typical pre-teen boy – as he spoons the last of it onto his plate and starts eating. Molly and Toby make identical faces, disgust dripping off them.

“Stop encouraging him,” Toby mutters under his breath. “It’s awful, really.”

“You practically lived in delis during college, Toby, give it up.” Andy stands to start clearing plates. “Molly, hon, are you done?”

“You have sauerkraut?” Josh asks, looking up. “That’s…”

“Interesting,” Donna says before Josh can say something stupid.

“It’s unpleasant to look at and horrific to experience, is what it is,” Toby grumbles. “At least Molly doesn’t like it.”

She grins. “Am I your favorite, Dad?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dad and I don’t play favorites,” Andy says with an arch look towards Toby, who cowers a bit in his seat. Donna exchanges a glance with Josh, before they look away so they don’t laugh.

“The sauerkraut, Andy?” she asks instead.

“It’s a Baltimore thing. I don’t know where it comes from, it’s just always been there. My parents always had it at Thanksgiving and it feels weird without it,” Andy says. “Huck, what kind of pie would you like?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t know about it,” Josh says quietly to Donna. She raises her eyebrows in question. “You know, since it’s trivia and all that.”

This time, she kicks him under the table.

 

**viii. the great pie debate**

“For some reason, I thought that pecan pie was more a Southern thing,” Andy says, cutting a slice from the tin.

Donna shrugs. “We always had it when I was growing up. I have an uncle from Missouri – does that count?”

“Your uncle is practically from Illinois, he doesn’t count,” Josh says from behind her, and kisses her on the cheek. “C’mon, say it.”

“Josh.”

“Say it, it’s funny!”

“How I pronounce pecan is not funny!”

Josh bursts into laughter. “Someday you will see the humor in this, I swear. You will! Also, Mom wants a slice of pumpkin.”

“Of course she would, she’s your mother.”

“You still going on about the worst pie on earth?”

“Yes, because pie made from the thing we carve on Halloween is really that much better,” Donna grumbles, but scoops out some ice cream. “I’m assuming Hannah doesn’t want any?”

“You’d be right,” Josh says, and sighs. “Seriously, how is it that our kid hates pie, of all things?”

“I wish that would happen with mine,” Andy says, transferring a slice of pecan pie to a place. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ve ended up with two small dessert-consuming robots instead of human twins.”

“Well, if I remember right, they definitely get that from –”

“Andy, where the hell is our pie?!”

 

**ix. gravy boats**

As Toby finishes up what has to be his fourth slice of pie, Ruth and Josh are cleaning up in the kitchen.

“Why is it that kids use like five times as much gravy as they need to?” Josh grumbles, trying not to splash too much of the sudsy water on himself. “Are they trying to torture whoever does the dishes?”

“You were like that as a kid,” Ruth says, and Josh wisely remains silent. “I never did understand it then, either.”

They finish off some of the dishes in relative quiet, Josh washing and Ruth drying, trying to figure out where Andy normally keeps her wine glasses until – “You aren’t mad, are you?”

Ruth turns around. “Mad about what?”

“Thanksgiving being here,” Josh says, shrugging as best as he can while washing off the gravy boat. “Y’know, not just family. I mean, it’s kind of a family holiday, and –”

“Joshua,” Ruth sighs, and he stills, because she never calls him by his full name. “We have family, we have friends. I’m surprised there aren’t more people here tonight, actually.”

“Well, CJ and Danny are in California, Sam’s in-laws are doing their thing, Donna’s family all hates D.C. -”

“You know what I meant.”

“Yeah.”

They’re quiet again for a few minutes until Ruth leans over and pats his arm above where it’s sticking out from the water. “ _Bubbeleh_ , family’s more than who you’re related to.”

“I know that,” Josh says, because he does – but it’s good to know that his mom doesn’t mind that he seems to have gained an odd collection of pseudo-siblings somewhere along the way.

 

**x. mashed potatoes**

“Thanks for coming,” Andy says, as she hands over a plastic bag with three Tupperware containers inside. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“You mean you’re glad that I weaseled my way into your Thanksgiving meal?” Donna says as she puts on her coat.

Andy laughs, quietly, because she’s holding Hannah and she hasn’t forgotten how easy it is to wake up a sleeping toddler. “That, too.”

Donna takes Hannah from her, smoothing down the fine, wavy hair against the puffy winter coat. “I’m happy we came, Andy.”

“Happier if you stop telling my children to support the devil’s team,” Toby says, Josh steps behind him.

“Oh, come on! The Red Sox actually won last year, they’re a decent team!”

“The Yankees are several grades above decent,” Toby says back, but Donna thinks that he still sounds like Eeyore as he says it. “And the Red Sox ended their crazy losing streak when President Bartlet was still in office. Stop acting like you’re still the scrappy underdog.”

“We lost for eighty-six years, of course we’re the scrappy underdog!”

“Behave yourself, or your daughter’s going to wake up,” Ruth says, and smiles at Andy. “Thank you so much for having us. It was a lovely evening.”

“Glad you could come,” Andy says again. “Listen, please take some of these leftovers off my hands? We’ll be eating mashed potatoes till Christmas if you don’t.”

“Sure – grab those, Josh, would you?” Donna directs, trying to settle her purse on her shoulder and balance Hannah with one arm. “Goodnight, you two. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Happy Thanksgiving,” they all echo back to each other through goodbyes, and the four of them – Josh, Donna, Hannah, and Ruth – walk out into the quiet cold of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took advantage of regional variations in the U.S. with this one; [stuffing vs. dressing](http://www.butterball.com/how-tos/stuffing-vs-dressing) is a very real thing, as is the [pecan pronunciation](http://www.farmflavor.com/how-do-you-say-pecan-mapping-food-dialect-trends-across-the-u-s/). The “great pie debate” is based on my aunt (pumpkin) and my uncle (pecan, pronunciation on the first syllable in a heavy Texas accent) fighting every year about the exact same thing. Sauerkraut at Thanksgiving dinner is, in fact, a Baltimore tradition. And if you’ve never had noodle kugel, you should go do that now. 
> 
> One of my oldest friends does have a bird named Tweet Tweet. In her defense, she would have been about ten when she named him, but said friend also had a dog named Pepperoni Pizza, so I don’t think she gets a defense this time.
> 
> Also, I had no choice but to incorporate [Toby’s love of pie](http://whendoiturnbackintoapumpkin.tumblr.com/post/21529341534/thewestwinggifs-the-west-wing-s03e11-100000).


	3. Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's not home too late to light the candles. At least, he doesn't think so.

Josh gets home late.

This is not exactly an unusual occurrence, but it’s happened a lot less for the past year and a half, so it’s unsurprising that guilt is weighing him down by the tonnage. The house is mostly dark when he enters; a lamp back in the kitchen is still on, and he makes his way towards it, stepping wildly to avoid the squeaky parts of their floor, when—

_Oof._

—the reason he doesn’t usually come home so late barrels straight into his legs. “Dadadada _da_!”

“Han, we don’t hurt people,” he says automatically, but leans over to pick her up. “Hi, honey. Did Mommy let you stay up late?”

“Mommy is exhausted and your daughter could not be contained,” Donna says from the doorway.

He smiles. “Hi. Long day?”

“What do you think?” she asks, a little acerbically, but kisses his cheek as she walks past him into the kitchen. “Was there a thing at work?”

He hums a little; doesn’t say more.

“You can say if it’s classified,” Donna says as he maneuvers his way into the kitchen with their one-and-a-half-year-old daughter making herself comfortable in his arms.

“It’s classified,” he says, and Donna gives him that look, the one that says she could make him tell her anything she wanted to know and he’d be helpless against her. She’s not wrong, but he’s not about to tell her that.

Instead, Donna sets a half-eaten yogurt container down and motions for him to give up Hannah. “It’s way past her bedtime. You want me to put her down?”

Josh shakes his head and looks down at Hannah, who is clearly wide awake – good sleep genes were never a possibility with this kid – and is quietly babbling away something nonsensical. “We’ve got something to do.”

Donna starts, but catches a glimpse of the setup he’d done on a corner of the kitchen counter that morning before work. “All right. I’ll see you upstairs in a couple minutes.”

He kisses her in return, quickly, before Hannah’s babbling turns louder and annoyed, and watches as she goes upstairs before turning back.

“Okay,” he tells the little girl in his arms, and Hannah’s eyes are blinking sleepily. “Sweetie, I’m going to put you down, okay? And then we’ll do this tonight, and we can do all the other fun stuff tomorrow night when there’s no national crisis and I can come home early.” He’s never exactly sure how much Hannah can understand, but she goes down quickly, chattering away with the word ‘up’ repeated often as he concentrates on not burning down the house.

The first night's candle has been lit and the _shamash_ placed in the middle before he can bend over and lift up his daughter. It’s been fully dark out for quite some time, and the windows in the kitchen reflect the flickering lights several times over, and he closes his eyes for a split second. This feels right, somehow. Just – right.

“Okay, Hannah,” he says quietly, and perhaps – for once in her short life – sensing a time for quiet, or simply tired, she leans her head against his shoulder. He rubs his spare hand along her little back, over the fleece-covered pajamas, and smiles. “Do you remember this from last year? _Baruch atah Adonai…_ ”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admittedly, this is probably not the exact way you're supposed to light the Hanukkah candles. There might be something in there about saying a different blessing over the shamash than the rest of the candles? I don't know. I am the worst Jew by anyone's definition (and not a Jew at all by the definition of many). In any case, Josh is not exactly religious in the show's canon, and I wanted to capture the feeling of my dad and me lighting Hanukkah candles when I was little. The wording may not be the best, but I think that warm, quiet, peaceful feeling is there.
> 
> Speaking of wording: this is in response to something my writing teacher said about writing to prompts over six years ago: "If you're including the word of the prompt, you're probably doing it wrong." For this one, at least, I've taken her up on her advice.
> 
> Also, it's past three in the morning and I'm currently beta-less, so any mistakes are all mine and I apologize profusely for them.


	4. Merry Christmas To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nine Christmases, spanning twenty years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I was going to do the top ten most popular Christmas carols, and then I realized… I _really_ hate The Little Drummer Boy. So I just picked out my favorites ([playlist here](http://8tracks.com/lookingforshadows/merry-christmas-to-you-fic-mix)). Enjoy!

**i. 2010**

_**haul out the holly;** _  
**_put up the tree before my spirit falls again_ **  
**(we need a little christmas, johnny mathis)**

“If I never hear another word about a Christmas tree again in my life, it will be too soon,” Donna shouted around the door as she came in. He tried to hide a grin; clearly she had been working up to a rant for a while.

“So you don’t want one this year?”

“I never said that.” Donna seemed to appear from nowhere in the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed.

He leaned in and kissed her, placing one hand on the prominent curve of her belly. “New social secretary driving you up the wall?” “

"Tree lighting is tomorrow and she’s still ironing out details. I don’t know how long she’s going to last.”

“That’s, what, four in four years?”

“At least she has nothing to do with the inauguration,” Donna said, sitting down on the couch. “You’d be screwed.”

“True,” he said, and smiled at her. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

“So… how about getting that Christmas tree of yours?” he said, and yelped when she hit him with a pillow.

 

**ii. 2013**

**_city sidewalks, busy sidewalks_ **  
**_dressed in holiday style_ **  
**(silver bells, bing crosby)**

“MOMMY!”

Truth be told, Donna wasn’t entirely sure that was her daughter yelling, but she knew that Hannah had inherited Josh’s vocal powers, impressive on a two-year-old. But she followed the sound of the voice, and looked up and there was Hannah, perched on Josh’s shoulders, her blonde curls escaping from underneath her little beanie.

“Mommy!” she said again, thankfully a little quieter this time, and Donna leaned in for a quick kiss from Josh before reaching up for Hannah, who tumbled into her arms. “Mommy, light up the Christmas tree?”

“Honey, Mr. President is going to do that,” Donna told Hannah, settling her on one hip, and reached down for Josh’s hand, squeezing it before letting go. “We should get going. Security’s going to be a madhouse.”

“We’ve got badges and she’s two years old,” Josh said, rolling his eyes, walking along Pennsylvania Avenue nevertheless. “How much damage can we cause?”

“Don’t underestimate a two-year-old,” Donna said, and turned to Hannah. “Are you excited to see the Christmas tree all lit up?”

“Lotsa colors?”

“Yes, the lights are all different colors,” Donna said. “And Miranda’s going to be there. Do you remember Miranda?”

“’Randa has a doggie!”

Josh sighed. “That dog tried to eat my shoes. While they were still on me,” he said as she laughed, and Hannah, watching her mother, started laughing with them. “It’s not funny, Donna!”

“It’s a little funny,” she said, and reached out for his hand again. “C’mon. Let’s go watch the president light up a Christmas tree.”

“Mommy light up Christmas tree!” Hannah chirped, and Donna straightened out the little cap, hoping that Josh hadn’t noticed that their daughter thought her mother was President of the United States.

 

**iii. 2008**

_**the playing of the merry organ** _  
**_sweet singing of the choir_ **  
**(the holly and the ivy)**

“This is not my holiday.”

“Ssh,” Donna said, and turned her head towards the front of her parents’ church again.

“I’m just saying, why am I in church right now?”

“Because you are,” she hissed. “Quiet.”

For once, Josh obeyed as the organist started to play the fanfare to “O Come, All Ye Faithful.” The music raised hairs on the back of her neck, filling her with an appreciation for the sound echoing around the room.

She knew the words, but flipped open the hymnbook to the words out of habit, and found Josh craning his neck to look. She slid it over and squeezed his hand with her own.

“O come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant, o come ye, o come ye to Bethlehem…”

She looked at Josh at the pause in the lyrics and found him staring not at her but at the organ, its power swaying, and smiled: they might both be secular in their own religious practices, but music was a faith all its own.

 

**iv. 2016**

**_ding-dong! merrily on high_ **  
**_in heav’n the bells are ringing;_ **  
**(ding dong! merrily on high)**

She had thought, with the naïveté of any unexperienced parent, that attending her daughter’s school holiday concert would be fun. Sure, it had taken several miracles to get her daughter ready on time and to convince her husband that, yes, he had to go, but it would be fun.

“This can’t get any worse,” Josh whispered into her ear. He wasn’t wrong.

Onstage, Hannah was beaming, her hair held back with snowflake barrettes, and she was ringing two little bells, eyes going back and forth, resting on the audience and her music teacher. She was so sweet, and Donna was so proud, but oh, God.

“My _ears_ ,” Josh complained again, this time in a low tone, and another parent turned around and shushed him. “Oh, c’mon, like their bratty kid is the standout of this shitshow!”

“Josh.”

“Yeah, sorry,” he mumbled. “Do I have to keep filming this?”

She shrugged. “Only if you want to embarrass your daughter twenty years down the line.”

“...do you have the portable charger?”

 

**v. 2006**

_**it’s that time of year** _  
**_when the world falls in love_ **  
**(the christmas waltz, kristin chenoweth)**

“Merry Day-When-Your-Savior-Was-Born.”

Donna smiled into the phone. “Thanks. Happy December 25th to you, too.”

“So… how’s Wisconsin?”

“Weird. Snowless. I can’t remember the last time we didn’t have snow on Christmas.” She grinned, curling further into the armchair she had situated herself in by her parents’ Christmas tree. “And I’m proud of you, for not making any jokes, there.”

“What is there to joke about?” he said, and she could hear the refrigerator open in the background. “I mean, there’s that little cheese matter, but –”

“I’m going to stop you right there.”

“Probably for the best,” he said, and his voice dropped into something softer, something she’d heard many times before but had never been able to pinpoint until recently: “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” she said quietly. “But I wanted to see my parents before we’re headlong into another four years. I’m coming home tomorrow night. You’ll be there, at the airport?”

“Waiting impatiently,” said Josh, and then, even softer, “I love you.”

“Right back at you,” she said, and beamed at no one at all.

 

**vi. 2014**

_**and hearts will be glowing** _  
**_when loved ones are near_ **  
**(it’s the most wonderful time of the year, andy williams)**

“The new photographer wants to know if he can use that photo on social media.”

Donna whirled around, one hand pressed to her heart. “Ma’am! You scared me.”

Helen Santos smiled and nodded towards the two men dancing with their daughters in the East Room. “They make a great picture, don’t they?”

Donna watched her husband and three-year-old daughter, briefly glancing at the President and twelve-year-old Miranda Santos. “Yes. They do.”

“Hard to believe this is the last Christmas party.”

“Yeah,” Donna said quietly, watching Josh dance with Hannah standing on his feet, their little girl laughing in the crush of people.

 

**vii. 2018**

_**i'm dreaming of a white christmas** _  
**_just like the ones i used to know_ **  
**(white christmas, bing crosby)**

“Is it gonna snow for Christmas this year?”

“What?” Donna turned her head to look at her seven-year-old daughter, who had taken to lying on the floor of the home office with her coloring book. “I don’t know, honey, I don’t have a crystal ball.”

Hannah’s eyebrows scrunched up: reference not understood. “But that song that you like, the one by Mr. De Bingo?” S

She stifled a laugh. “Bing Crosby, honey. Grandpa Moss calls him Der Bingle.”

“Oh.” Hannah seemed to consider this closely. “But if we get snow then Daddy can take me sledding. Like Pa in the Big Woods in the book.”

Donna tried not to laugh at the idea of Josh doing anything remotely outdoorsy, even if it was for their daughter. She didn’t quite succeed.

 

**viii. 2026**

_**one seems to hear words of good cheer** _  
**_from everywhere, filling the air_ **  
**(carol of the bells)**

“Mail’s here!”

“Well, can you go get it instead of just announcing it?”

With a huff, Donna heard the kitchen chair scrape back and then the sound of the door opening, presumably Hannah going outside to get the mail from the box. The cat, sitting at her feet as she finished typing a memo for work, raised his head before stretching out for another nap.

“We got, like, six holiday cards,” said Hannah, bursting into the home office and plunking herself down in Josh’s chair. “Aunt CJ and Uncle Danny, some people in Congress, the Bartlets, Aunt Tina, and some guy named Colin Ayres?”

“That’s nice, let me see the one from – wait, what was that last name again?”

“Colin – Ayres. Am I saying that right? A-Y-R-E-S?”

“Yeah.” Donna shook her head. “Didn’t think I’d see that name in a million years. Better hide that from your dad.”

“Why?”

“An old – well, boyfriend, I guess,” she said, smiling at her self-censorship. “Dad is not particularly fond of him."

“That’s stupid,” Hannah said, following her mother out of the office and into the kitchen. “It’s Christmas. We send cards, they send cards, everyone sends cards. He’s going to get all upset about it, isn’t he?”

He would, although there were a couple ways Donna could make that up to him – but she wasn’t going to tell Hannah that. “Probably. Open it for me? I want to see what President Bartlet wrote.”

“Yeah, here,” she said, handing over the envelope postmarked from Manchester. “Let’s see, he says…huh, I guess he met Uncle Danny somewhere? That’s what he says, anyway, and he gave him our address…he says he knows it’s been a long time since you talked but he wanted to send a card and wish you a Merry Christmas. And he said hi to Dad. Did Dad know him?”

“They met,” Donna said, perusing the rest of the cards. “Nothing more?”

“No.”

She smiled to herself. “That was nice of him to write,” she said, and realized that it _was_. Now, she thought of her time in Gaza as just another part of Josh’s and her journey, but Colin had been there, too: had sat with Josh when she was in for surgery. Had flown to Germany. Had seen the car explode. He was one more person who had experienced the emotion of the trauma.

She picked up the card. There was a scribbled postscript on the back that Hannah had missed – _Danny said you and Josh got together years ago. I knew there was something going on in Germany – v happy for you both._

“Never expected that voice from the past,” Donna said, and picked up her purse, leaving the card on the kitchen counter. She and Josh would talk about it later. “But added well-wishes never hurt. You ready for some Christmas shopping?”

“Yeah,” Hannah said, “I was thinking I’d get earrings for Grandma Moss, but she’s so hard to shop for, I never know what to get…”

Hannah kept talking as Donna closed the door, making a mental note to send out another Christmas card.

 

**ix. 2009**

_**here we are as in olden days** _  
**_happy golden days of yore_ **  
**(have yourself a merry little christmas, frank sinatra)**

They had agreed not to do big Christmas gifts that year; it seemed ridiculous when neither of them had much spare time, and there were no expectations that way.

Even – or perhaps especially – after all these years, Josh still couldn’t follow rules.

“You broke it first,” he said, handing her the slim package – a book? or a notebook? – and climbing back into bed. “You made this giant breakfast and everything this morning.”

“That wasn’t a present, that was making sure we both had food,” she argued, nevertheless a little pleased. She wasn’t a great cook – wasn’t even a good cook, not that she really cared if she was or not – but the occasional pancakes and eggs, she could do. “You don’t even celebrate Christmas.”

“But you do,” he said, and kissed her. “Go on, open it.”

She did, and the book – it was a book – didn’t look that familiar. It was old, sure, but other than that – and yet, she was reminded of the skiing book he had given her, almost – “The book,” she said. “The alpine skiing one. That was ten years ago.”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “Notice the title?”

“ _Mastering the Techniques of Nordic Skiing_ by…Heimlich Beckengruber,” she said, and grinned at him. “He wrote another one?”

“He did indeed,” Josh said, leaning back into the pillows. “You haven’t checked for a note, I notice.”

“I was getting around to that,” she said, and flipped open the book, still smiling, to read what he’d written to her, a decade down the line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's interested, drabble six was inspired by [this picture](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/17/23/92/17239276384d6e5246077f22f6d8d47e.jpg).


	5. Late Night Valentine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Josh?" Silence. "You know I don't care if you get me flowers or whatever, right?"

"You're home awfully late."

Josh jumped at the door. "Jesus, Donna, don't scare me like that!"

"Sorry." She smiled from the couch. "Just reading up on some stuff. What was going on? You said you thought today would be light."

He dropped on the couch by her feet. "Little bit of this, little bit of that. Thought Lou was going to bite my head off. And as it turns out, the President couldn't handle anything tonight because the First Lady made some arrangements for the two of them. Know anything about that?"

She grinned. "It doesn't always have to be the guys who have to be romantic on Valentine's Day, you know."

He didn't respond, just sank a little further into the cushions.

"It's a good thing we didn't have plans for tonight."

No response.

"Hannah had fun at Pre-K today, I think. She was babbling about it. I'm sure she can tell you at breakfast tomorrow. Lots of intrigue as to who received better Frozen-related Valentines."

Nothing.

"Josh?" Silence. "You know I don't care if you get me flowers or whatever, right?"

He turned his head towards her, the rest of him still immobile. _Finally_. "You sure?"

"No," she said, and cursed to herself. "I mean, yes, I'm sure. I don't care. That stuff is nice, don't get me wrong, but we have something pretty special without all that, okay?"

His hand found hers. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, and smiled back at him. "And if you really want the roses and chocolates and teddy bears with candy hearts, I can always get them for you on sale tomorrow."

"Donna!"

"I'm joking, I'm joking. Oh, hey — Han made a bunch of drawings for you. You might want to take a look at them before she gives them to you tomorrow. I tried to tell her that maybe Daddy might not be so crazy about wearing a fuchsia muumuu, but I think it kind of went over her head."

"You think?"

"And I have a photo of her from this afternoon. Mom sent a box and knitted a little pink sweater."

"Another one?"

"I know. This one is just as bad as the last."

"Please never take up knitting."

"No promises, but that seems pretty unlikely. Here's the photo," Donna said, and held out her phone. Hannah — after several minutes of arguing about wearing the itchy, misshapen sweater for the length of three pictures to send to Grandma Moss, and several more minutes attempting to tame her curly hair into semi-submission — sat demurely on the arm of the easy chair across from them right now, head turned as if she was keeping a secret. (There were probably several secrets, but their world seemed better off not knowing them.) And she really did look cute in that sweater, lopsided though it definitely was.

Josh grinned. "We have one heck of a cute kid."

"She's pretty adorable," Donna said. "Well—"

"When she's not driving us up a wall," Josh muttered, and they both laughed, cuddling closer together.

She looked at the clock: 11:49 P.M. "You know, it's still Valentine's Day."

He raised an eyebrow. "Unless that clock is lying."

"I don't think it is."

"Lucky for us, then," Josh said, pulling her closer and then tugging her up off the couch. "Hey, um, before we — you'll tell me about all of Han's Valentine's card drama before tomorrow so I can actually, y'know, read the _Post_ in semi-peace?"

"Not a chance."

"Right, that's what I thought," Josh said, lacing his fingers with hers as he leaned in for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter inspired partially by [this picture](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/171840542008227722/), featuring a sweater that is not itchy, lumpy, misshapen, or lopsided at all.


	6. Parenthood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The best moment of his life occurs during the White House Easter Egg Roll.

The best moment of Josh's life occurs during the White House Easter Egg Roll.

Hannah is three years old, and she is most definitely his daughter. Everything in the way she's shifting from foot to foot screams impatience, and she's talking over his conversation with Congresswoman Farr about the new bill that's probably _not_ going to close the Medicare donut hole, and he lets go of Hannah's hand for just a moment. . .

Of course, as soon as he looks down, she's gone.

He spends a good ten seconds panicking before spotting her across the lawn, thankfully, with Miranda Santos. The older girl is very patiently showing the younger how to roll the eggs. Hannah is frowning in a way that suggests a temper tantrum, a small indent forming between her eyebrows that looks just like Donna when she's concentrating on something.

He's starting to walk over, only a half a dozen yards away, when Donna rushes in out of nowhere and hoists Hannah into her arms, scolding her for running off between relieved kisses.

He's frozen to his spot, watching, when Donna sees him and smiles. Her grin lights up the entire District, and she points him out to their daughter for an enthusiastic wave.

He waves back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short but (hopefully) sweet! It's a slight expansion of one of the original 100-word drabbles that prompted this series.


	7. Passover's Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There will be feasting and dancing in Jerusalem next year..."

"This is the bread of affliction that our fathers ate in the land of Egypt," Ruth Lyman reads, and although she has conducted the Seder every year since his father's death, there is still something about seeing his mom at the head of the table and not Dad, complaining that once again they forgot the damn reclining pillows, that throws him off.

"Whoever is hungry, let him come and eat; whoever is in need, let him come and conduct the Seder of Passover. This year we are here; next year in the land of Israel. This year we are slaves; next year we will be free people," Ruth says, and beams at her granddaughter. "Bubbeleh, will you read the four questions for us?"

Hannah has been practicing this for the last week, but her wide eyes make him wonder if she might not be able to. And yet she looks down at her Haggadah, takes a breath, and asks in a clear voice, "Why is this night different from all other nights?"

Hearing his daughter read all four questions perfectly is more than enough to make up for being assigned the Wicked Child – and his wife being assigned the Wise Child – a few minutes later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the absence of my being able to find the copies my family normally uses, quotes from the Haggadah (the text of the Passover Seder) is from Chabad’s website. And stolen from real life: my grandfather used to routinely assign the Wicked Child to my dad and the Wise Child to my mom. (Also, I tried to work in an Elijah joke, but couldn't make it happen.)


	8. Red, White, and Blue Ruffles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Look at the fireworks…  
> Look at the fireworks...  
> Light up the night sky…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very short one this time, inspired by [this photo](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/69/ee/db/69eedb6940f2b3e11bfd51011fb63da7.jpg). Happy American Independence Day, all!

“No.”

Donna sighs. “Josh–”

“She is not wearing that.”

“She looks darling!”

“She looks like a Republican decided we needed an all-American child parading around to look, y’know, American."

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not being ridiculous!”

Okay, so he might sound a little ridiculous, but really. This is what she's arguing for, of all things?

“For god’s sake, it’s a Fourth of July-themed dress. You’re arguing about children’s clothing.”

“It’s about patriotic ideals through politics!”

Donna looks like she’s going to argue back, and damn. He knows that look, which says she has a bargaining chip up her sleeve and she’s about to strike. “Josh, do _you_ want to go argue about this argue with Abbey Bartlet? Because I'm sure we can manage to get her to a phone easily enough.”

And yeah, okay. She wins. This time.

(Besides: Hannah looks adorable in her little skirt with red and white ruffles, her hair in two little ponytails or pigtails or braids or whatever those things are called, beaming at the camera with a Rocket Pop clutched in her hands. And when they finally get around to viewing the couple seconds of video caught on their phone, Hannah - whether in the forefront or somewhere in the background - is always twirling, admiring her skirt. 

How can Josh be annoyed with something that makes his daughter so happy?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I _meant_ to update this for both Mother's Day in May and Father's Day a few weeks ago, but I'm afraid time got away from me: I've been travelling, and ending a job/applying for jobs, and trying to deal with some family health problems. My objective was always to cram as many holidays into one year as I could, from Halloween through Fourth of July. I didn't get as many in as I'd like, unfortunately, but my plan still stands: I'm stopping the series here, though reserving the right to add in additional chapters if I feel the need. It's been so much fun to write without any pressure, and this fandom is the best when it comes to supporting each other's writing. So thank you. And who knows - maybe I'll bring Hannah back sometime.


End file.
